"What have you done?" she exclaimed. "Are you mad? He may be here at any moment now. Go, at once!"
"I shall not go!"
"My house is my own! I am my own!"
"You know it is not true, Madam!"
I saw the slow shudder that crossed her form, the the fringe of wet which sprang to her eyelashes. Again the pleading gesture of her half-open fingers.
"Ah, what matter?" she said. "It is only one woman more, against so much. What is past, is past, Monsieur. Once down, a woman does not rise."
"You forget history,—you forget the thief upon the cross!"
"The thief on the cross was not a woman. No, I am guilty beyond hope!"
"Rather, you are only mad beyond reason, Madam. I shall not go so long as you feel thus,—although God knows I am no confessor."
"I confessed to you,—told you my story, so there could be no bridge across the gulf between us. My happiness ended then."